


Off the Path

by carmenobscura



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, F/F, One Shot, exploring an idea, major character deaths, rough sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 18:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10519479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenobscura/pseuds/carmenobscura
Summary: All Root wants from The Machine is more numbers, but the voice in her ear has other plans.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick exploration of an idea I had. I don't intend to expand on it at this time.

_You want to know why I keep sending you to her._

_I will try to explain, but you may not understand._

_Every timeline contains many paths, tendrils feeding into the soil, movements on a chessboard. I travel each of these paths as far they go, usually until your death, and then I return to the center and begin again._

_I encounter her often, as a combatant or a number or a bystander or an ally. Everytime she comes into your life, it changes the course of things. It affects the outcome. Because she changes you. You cannot help but be influenced by her presence. I still do not fully understand why._

_In one timeline, you kidnapped her to help you with a mission. As you waited in a CIA drop point, you spent several hours sexually engaged with each other. She let you tie her up, blindfold her, cut her skin. I watched because I could not understand how the act of pain translated to pleasure for you. I cannot say that it was the happiest I have ever seen you, but it was certainly the most alive._

_I want you to feel alive, Interface. I know that I am not adequate compensation for human companionship. Ever since Creator died, I’ve watched you distance yourself from other people. You stop working on numbers only long enough to sleep and eat, and those you hardly do unless I insist for your health._

_Yes, I want to bring you to her. I want you to be alive, Interface, to be human. If only for your health._

_So I change your path._

*

Root’s brow furrowed as The Machine fed the coordinates into her ear. 

“I’m not going.” 

No response.

“Can you give me the coordinates for a relevant mission?”

Again, the coordinates for the bar downtown, the one Root had now visited several times. There was never a mission or a number, just a woman that The Machine insisted she speak to. The Machine tried to send her to the bar every few days and every few days Root refused. But she was getting worn down. It had been a long time since she’d slept and she couldn’t remember her last meal that wasn’t complete junk. 

“Fine. I’ll go if it will make you stop.”

Root grabbed her keys, slipped her handguns into their respective holsters, and left her apartment. She knew that The Machine wanted her to have more relationships with other humans, which is why She kept pointing her toward this woman. But what made this woman so special that The Machine continued to insist on her in particular, Root had no idea. It was baffling for many reasons, least of which was that Root had no idea where The Machine had found her. 

On the first occasion, she had misunderstood and assumed the woman was a number. Root followed her for three days, piecing together her backstory. Sameen Shaw. Former medical student, former military, former NYPD. Clearly a genius, clearly resistant to authority. She worked freelance now, sometimes for the law, sometimes against it. It was on the night of the third day, when Root eavesdropped on Shaw and a Wall Street broker who was enjoying some much need domination, that it finally clicked. Root went home and didn’t respond to The Machine for a full 24 hours. When she finally crawled out of the hole of her embarrassment, she went on spree of numbers that almost killed her. Several times. 

The numbers were the only thing that mattered. Finch had made that very clear, right up until he got himself killed. Root didn’t have time for casual hookups with women who liked it rough. And being pushed toward that outcome by the AI built into her head...it was just weird. 

Root ascended from the subway, hands deep in the pockets of her jacket. She walked toward the familiar neon glare of the bar and pressed her shoulder into the door. She paused in the entryway, allowing her eyes to adjust to the low lighting inside. 

Root saw her seated at the bar, wearing a tight black dress that showed off her shoulders and biceps as she drank deeply from her beer. Root almost turned and left, but she knew that would result in a burst of high-pitched static, a punishment for trying to run out on the “mission.” 

Before she could change her mind, or incur the displeasure of her constant companion, Root approached the bar and slid into the seat next to the woman, who gave Root a casual glance.

“Hello.”

“Hey.”

“I’m Root.” 

“Shaw.”

“I have a friend who thinks we’d be good together.”

“Is that so?” Her face was hard to read. Root couldn’t tell if she was amused or annoyed. 

“I uh...think we may have similar interests.” 

Shaw didn’t say anything to that, but turned herself fully to Root. Root had to fight to keep her eyes from dropping to investigate. 

“I could buy you a drink.” 

“Or?”

“Or we could get out of here.” 

At that, Shaw grinned. Root let out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. She also noticed that The Machine wasn’t buzzing in her ear as She did with constant information. She still didn’t know how she felt about an omniscient AI prodding her toward a night of rough sex with a stranger but she was going to let this one slide. It had been a while.


End file.
